


I Could Smoke

by Marshmellowtoast



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Paint, Knotting, M/M, Mirror Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmellowtoast/pseuds/Marshmellowtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull notices Dorian smoking during one of his regular matches with Cullen and it gives him an idea that is too good to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for the Adoribull Minibang.
> 
> http://majestic-lizard-birb.tumblr.com/post/129020424923/my-contribution-to-the-adoribull-mini-bang-i-just  
> The lovely drawing that was made in conjunction with my fic!

The idea had formed when he saw Dorian smoking for the first time. He had been walking on the outskirts of the gardens and noticed Cullen and Dorian engaged in their usual match. It had seemed completely normal, until a plume of smoke made him do a double take. 

The Altus sat in his usual place at the small table they used to play. Relaxed in his chair and styled to disheveled perfection, like a monarch on a wicker chair. A curl of smoke rose from his hand, a cigarette of some sort held causally between his fingers. He looked at the board dispassionately calculating his next move, flicking ashes from the cigarette and taking a long drag as he thought. The smoke came out in a slow trickle from his mouth, a soft stream of grey too fine to form a cloud. 

An image of the mage sprang up in his mind, tanned skin marked with dark patterns in the diamond shapes of scales, smoke curling from his lips.

Thank the Maker for loose pants.

A light slap on the arm drew his attention back to his proper surroundings, to where Inquisitor Cadash stood with a knowing smirk. 

"I'm sorry that our current mission isn't engaging enough for you Bull," laughed the dwarf. "Shall we discuss the plans with the commander then? It might be good to get a second opinion."

Without waiting for a response she was off the tiled path, crossing the grass to the gazebo. Cullen studied the board, moving his piece before rising to greet them. The Inquisitor motioned him to one side where they began to quickly and quietly discuss their next course of action.

Taking the gesture for what is was, Bull approached the mage and watched as he took a drag of the cigarette, scrutinizing the board. Huffing out the smoke from his nose, Dorian moved his own piece in response and sat back with another frustrated puff.

"I might have to start cheating to keep up. Intellectual practice is one thing, but I doubt I will need to be this on my toes when trying to relax," he said, flicking the ashes so they landed on the stone floor.

"New habit?" asked Bull, his eye tracking the small light it produced. Much to his surprise there had been no overpowering stench to of tobacco, only cloves and a spice that he couldn't place.

"Not new, so much as rediscovered. I had to have them specially imported. It's a favoured socially acceptable sin of mine, to add to the pile of unacceptable ones," confessed the mage. He took one last drag holding onto the smoke. The tail end of the cigarette lit up in his hand turning to ash that quickly scattered. With a practiced ease he puffed the smoke out in rings, floating them towards Bull. "Does it bother you?"

"Not at all," he chuckled leaning down to steal a quick kiss.

___

Getting the supplies for his plan however, took time. Researching what kind of paint or dye to use without poisoning Dorian would be difficult. He couldn't risk using the library's resources, as it was well known that Dorian practically live there, always huddled in his outcove or claiming a table with stacks of materials. Asking the few craftsmen who handled paint proved fruitless as well. The paints they had access to would dry and flake within minutes, and often times had something toxic mixed in. 

Asking Solas was a last resort, his choice in rooms making it just as likely to run into Dorian. Needling the information out of the elf carefully enough so we wouldn't catch on would be a pain in the ass. Not impossible by any means, but sitting through lecture after lecture on how to get the most vivid colours out of bug shit wasn't his idea of a fun time.

It took nearly a week to get the name of the plant and powder that would do the job. Throwing it on his list of supplies for the quartermaster didn't even get a raised eyebrow, considering some of the other things she had acquired for him. 

Prying Dorian away from the library had been more of a pain than usual, the mage seemingly having caught onto something interesting for once. He was stubbornly refusing to leave his seat for less than a siege.  
___

Dorian tapped his cigarette in irritation, letting smoke curl from his mouth as if it would help to ease his troubles. Bull had barged into the library again, trying to steal his attention away from his research at a crucial time. He had finally managed to make some progress on a calculation that had kept him stumped for days, stopping now could mean another complete halt in his progress. 

Large hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Dorian tensed before they began to slowly knead at his sore muscles. The massage worked out the tension that had built over the course of a day spent hunched at a desk. 

A small moan worked its way from his lips as the mild pain eased away. "If you think that is going to liberate me from my work, you are sorely mistaken," he said, relaxing into Bull's hands. 

"Do all of my motivations for coming to see you have to be about pulling you away?" asked the qunari, tone clearly a mocking sort of hurt. “Maybe I just wanted to enjoy your company?”

Dorian tilted his head back to level a flat stare at the man above him. "Amatus, the only times you step foot in this tower are on the Inquisitor’s heels or with the words 'Dorian, there is this thing I want to try' in your mouth."

"I've come here plenty of times to give reports to Leliana," he protested, lowering himself to meet the Altus in a slow kiss. Those broad hands trailed down his body, skimming his ribs before coming to rest at his hips. Clever fingers worked their way past the comfortably tight leather of his clothing to rub small circles onto the soft flesh at his hips. 

Dorian forced himself to pull away with a reluctant sigh. Bull, however, would not be deterred so easily and began trailing kisses from the mage's ear down his jaw and onto his neck. 

Biting back a moan, Dorian squirmed in a feeble attempt escape his advances.

"Bull!" he pleaded. "You great oaf, if you keep this up we are going to get-"

A frustrated cough startled them out of their own thoughts, and back to the library. The source of the noise, Mother Giselle, was staring at them intently her hands clutching a book with a white-knuckled grip.

Bull was not one to give up at the small inconvenience of being interrupted, it had happened before (most notably in the gardens of Halamshiral, and Skyhold. Bull seemed to have some sort of thing about fucking him amidst foliage the he would have to ask about.) and it only seemed to agitate him slightly. Dorian however was not inclined to put on a show and he sighed as if the world had been inconvenienced by the interruption. Very deliberately, he extracted Bull’s still groping hands from his pants, gathered up his research materials and returned them to his corner. 

Iron Bull followed with a perceptible air of agitation. 

“Don’t see why the old crone had to barge in like that. It’s not like there was anyone around to disturb. Except maybe a tranquil or two,” he grumbled. 

Dorian shuddered at the unpleasant image of that particular idea wormed its way into his head. The last thing he wanted during any sort of play were those dead eyes staring at him. 

“They might simply ask for an explanation and move on unless someone had expressed discomfort with what we were doing,” he replied with a grimace. The last flickering sparks of his arousal were threatening to die if this particular conversation lasted any longer than it already had. Still underneath the watchful eyes of Mother Giselle, but sheltered somewhat in the alcove, he hooked a hand around one of Bull’s horns and pulled him in for a brief kiss. 

“If it’s something new,” he said pressing their bodies close. “Then it would be best to use your room. The racket from the bar should do well to cover any noises and I’ve had quite enough of gawking Chantry for one day.

Bull let out a pleased rumble at the contact, taking Dorian by the hand and heading out over the battlements. By luck, Cullen was not in his office, allowing them to through without further embarrassment and another lecture on the dangers of fooling around on the dangerously high walkways. The first of those had been delivered by the flustered Commander after they had been discovered rutting against one of the parapets. 

The soldiers on watch hardly gave them a second glance as they passed, but noticeably shifted away as they fumbled at the door. 

“What’s your game today then?” he asked crossing to sit on Bull’s bed, spreading his legs so the already tight leather of his pants would rub against his stirring length.

Bull moved over to the only upright piece of furniture other than the bed, a dresser that Dorian insisted he used to keep his clothing and began unbuckling his pauldron and harness. “Only two rules for now.” He explained setting his gear aside and dug around for the silk cloth they kept as a blindfold. “First is strip. You don’t need to be dressed.” 

Dorian complied with the request, making the act of undressing seem as if it was a grand performance. Bull watched the display with an amused glint in his eye, playing with the light fabric in his hands. When Dorian was finished and sitting comfortably on the bed, every inch of his caramel skin exposed, Bull took a moment to enjoy the view, circling around his canvas. 

“Admiring perfection?” asked Dorian. 

“Always, Kadan,” he replied, loving the way the one little word always made Dorian blush. He tried not to think about why a simple endearment excited him like it was lewd poetry. 

Closing in from behind, he leaned across the bed until their bodies were almost touching and his breath ghosted over his ear. “The second thing I need you to do is keep still.” Tying the soft cloth securely around his eyes, Bull pushed him back onto the bed and arranging him into a better position. Dorian allowed himself to be moved without any resistance so he was lying on his side. 

“Is that all?” he asked, curious if he should be worried about how mundane a request it was. 

“That’s all for now,” responded Bull. He finished the last of his adjustments leaving Dorian so his right side was pressed against he bed, his left still exposed. There was a tell-tale spring of the mattress as Bull stood, presumably in search of something. Blocked completely from sight it was easy to focus in on his other senses instead. 

The din of the bar beneath them was a quiet constant from below them. There was a shuffling of drawers, the shifting of a fine powder as it was measured out into something else. The sound of a cork popping was accompanied by the fresh scent of lemons. The scrape of a mortar and pestle as ingredients were pressed together.

It didn’t take long for Bull to return with whatever concoction he had put together, the frame creaking underneath him. A cold touch against his skin nearly made Dorian flinch as a brush passed over sensitive skin on his ribs. Whatever was on it smelled strange. It was spicy and rich without a hint of the lemon that he had smelt earlier. It lacked the same toxic aroma as the vitaar Bull normally used. The only thing he could place it near was the scent of freshly dyed cloth.

Fighting hard to keep from giggling as Bull worked over his skin, placing dots in what he guessed was a pattern, before starting in earnest at his hip. Each movement of the brush was quick and confident, never twitching in the slightest, the thick paste coming off smoothly. 

“Bull, are you by any chance... dying my skin?” he asked, still confused by the faint smell of spices. 

Bull’s motions continued in their near mechanical pattern, never halting as he spoke. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Is it permanent? Like some sort of strange Qunari mating ritual?” 

“Dorian, if I thought it was a good idea to permanently change your skin without your permission, I would have to turn myself over to the Inquisitor,” huffed Bull. “Hell, I might just have Krem end me on the spot for ruining perfection.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence as Bull worked away placing lines and dots in, what seemed to him like a nonsensical pattern. Dorian couldn’t help dozing as Bull worked, shifting only when it was needed. Parts of the paste began to dry as soon as it set against his skin, hardening into what he could only assume would be little raised bumps and ridges. As time wore on he could feel Bull growing excited as he worked, nearing what was probably the end of his painting. The image it brought to mind of Bull, his focus only on the lines he was placing across his skin. Those hands, normally dedicated to acts of violence and passion, moving as gently as if he was handing glass, was enough to get him excited as well. 

The last stroke came and Dorian was left alone, not willing to move without permission. There was more shuffling, much louder this time as Bull moved something that sounded rather heavy around the room. He heard a clank and rustle as Bull removed his brace and clothing. His hands went wandering over the makings, checking on the pattern and on their hardness. Apparently satisfied with his handy work, he moved Dorian, startling a yelp out of him at the suddenness of the motion. 

This move left him on his elbows and knees with a pillow tucked under his hips to keep his ass presented. A finger slick with oil pressed at his hole, rubbing soft circles until it relaxed. Easing past the initial intrusion Bull’s finger sank into the last knuckle without any resistance. 

It had taken Dorian a lot of time and effort to get to the point he was at now, and he was proud of it. Taking Bull's length had been near impossible at first, his girth probably enough to make most men and women uncomfortable in the beginning. They had worked hard to get him to the point he was at, using it as a regular point in their play. He had spent plenty of nights stretched wide around different, increasingly large toys to train his muscles properly. All of that had been worth it the first time that glorious cock was sheathed in him, the only inch left being the large bump of his knot. 

A second finger quickly followed the first, derailing his train of thought as it pushed in hard and began to stretch him open, Bull seemingly intent on working in a third as fast as possible. Dorian couldn’t help the quiet stream of curses and whimpers that flowed out of him at even the smallest of movements. Without sight it became all too easy to focus intently on other sensations, leaving each one more intense than usual. Without the pain of feeling overstuffed too quickly, all that was left was the pleasant burn as his muscles relaxed to take more in: the feeling of skin pressing so intimately against his own, pushing deep inside to brush his prostate with every other stroke. 

He felt like nothing more than putty in Bull’s hands as each sensitive spot was expertly teased and stroked to pull increasingly desperate moans out of him. The only accompanying noises in the room were the quick slaps of flesh connecting and harsh panting as Bull fisted his own length to full hardness. His third finger pressed in with the others and Dorian felt his first pangs of discomfort. 

The pained whine he let out was enough for Bull to slow his movements to a snail’s pace. Instead of speed he insured that each of his thrusts brushed maddeningly against his prostate. Its overall effect had him squirming against Bull’s fingers, begging for a harder and faster pace. He couldn't help but push back towards them, lifting his hips to move in time with Bull's thrusts and rub against the pillow.

A sharp burning slap across his backside still the rutting entirely, a spike of pain causing him to clench around Bull’s fingers. 

“No moving, remember?” chided Bull, his tone ever mindful and controlled even with his fingers knuckle deep in Dorian’s ass. 

“Mmm- maybe if you weren’t taking so long I wouldn’t have to look for relief elsewhere,” snapped Dorian. His arms were beginning to grow weak at the prolonged onslaught and inability to move from their assigned spot. At once Bull pressed in hard, his fingers pushing down and rubbing his prostate in tight movements. 

Dorian hardly had time to cry out before they left him entirely, leaving him wide open. Shaking arms gave way at last and he took up a white knuckle grip on the sheets, willing himself to relax. Taking his frustrations out on the sheets was all he could do while waiting for whatever Bull had in store next.

Bull’s hands were back trailing along his sides almost reverently. “Fuck Dorian. You look so damned good. All trussed up and ready for me.” He groaned, rubbing a digit over the stretched pucker of his hole. “You look ready to take all of it.”

Dorian shuddered at the memory of the first time he had tried. It had been early on when they could hardly admit what they were feeling was anything other than lust, let alone call it a relationship. They had both been rather drunk at the time and could only remember it vaguely. There had been an attempt at sex, but it had dissolved quickly into sloppy fumbling. Dorian couldn't remember the encounter very clearly,and had woken up with a persistent hangover and a bruised ass. Bull had explained later that he had slipped and fallen onto the hardwood floor and they had abandoned the attempt in favour of sleep. That had been months ago and the idea of finally being ready for that last elusive inch had him feeling desperate.

“Yes please,” cooed Dorian, wishing he could take the blindfold off and ride Bull until they were both fucked out. To hell with any games, it was getting painful to keep waiting like this. 

Without any further warning than a sudden grip on his hips, he was moved again, back to Bull’s chest with his legs spread wide over his lap. He could feel the blunt head of Bull’s length brush against his hole as he poised to take the final step. Keeping his grip strong, he began to guide Dorian in a slow descent. While he would never admit it aloud, Dorian loved a long slow fuck just as much as any of their desperate rutting. It was a delicious sort of torture, taking things too slowly so that it forced him to feel everything from the first burn as the slick tip pushed its way inside. The burn started as it passed through, his cock growing thicker. Each vein acting as a little ridge for him to enjoy as they rubbed at every inch, pressing against every sensitive spot on their way. It made for an eternity of sensation before he came to rest against Bull’s knot. 

A hand left his hip and there was a brief rustle of fabric as the blindfold was removed. Squinting in the fire light, Dorian tried to focus on his surroundings and not the cock shoved deep into his ass. A mirror had been propped against the door to allow him a splendid view of the scene that was unfolding. 

They were sitting at the edge of the bed, Bull’s feet planted on the stone floor for support and his hands resting at Dorian’s hips. He was sitting across Bull’s lap, his legs spread wide to reach either side of those thick thighs. The angle was such that he could clearly see where their bodies met and how fully impaled he was on Bull’s length, the top of the knot just pressing inside. I quick snap of Bull's hips or more of his own weight bearing down would be let it slip fully inside.

What had him completely transfixed was the pattern of interconnected lines that started at his hip and trailed up his ribs to curl around onto his back and shoulders. Each line met up to form a repeating shape like a rough diamond. The work was so delicate that he could hardly believe it was done by hand, let alone someone as rough and tumble as The Iron Bull. Whatever paint had been used was a dark chocolate shade of brown that was startling enough to draw the eye, but blended perfectly with his skin tone to make the shapes look natural. The realization of what they were dawned on him like a blow to the chest. 

Scales.  
Bull had lovingly hand painted a mesh of scales all along his side and was now looking at him with hopeful adoration and all he could manages to do was stare like a slack jawed idiot . 

“Do you like it?” asked Bull, his voice strangely tight.

“A-amatus I-” he began, still unable to look away from the image reflected in the mirror. Incapable of even the most basic sentence, he reached back and grabbed a horn, pulling Bull into a kiss. It was sloppy, tongues battling for whatever inch of ground they could get and teeth spread throughout to lace sharp pain in with passion. Dorian felt far too much to get any meaning across with his normal finesse, talking at all felt like an impossible and completely unnecessary task.

With what little remained of his self control, he called up the smallest bit of fire possible, drew in a deep breath and puffed out a line of smoke that went curling around Bull’s horn. The badly stifled groan and involuntary roll of hips was well worth the unpleasant taste that would come from that trick. 

Grunting from the effort, Bull moved Dorian so he was flat on his back. With little ceremony, he slammed back into Dorian fully seating himself in one blow. The suddenness of it knocked the breath from Dorian’s lungs in a smoke filled moan. Clearly excited beyond words Bull began a bruising pace. Snapping his hips in hard thrusts that sloppily when from missing his sweet spot to railing it with the full force of his weight. With all of the slow and sweet preparing Dorian had already been achingly hard and the onslaught of pleasure proved to be too much. He came, embarrassingly quickly, pushed high against the mattress without a single touch to his aching length. 

Lost in his own bliss, he didn’t notice Bull’s agitated groan. Pushing against the little resistance his body could offer, he drove forward until his knot was fully sheathed in Dorian. The sensation of fullness dragged him back down to earth from the high of his orgasm. Bull was staring at him, lost between lust and something akin to a blood rage, his thrusts becoming tight and focused entirely on rubbing the knot. 

“Bull? A-are you alright?” he asked, voice sounding entirely too wrung out. Instead of a response Bull grunted and pushed him harder into the mattress. 

Taking a hold of his horns, Dorian used them as the handle bars they often proved to be, tugging Bull down to meet him for a kiss. Bull’s tongue quickly pushed past his teeth, claiming dominance in the simple act. Dorian called up more fire and let the smoke trail into their kiss. It was enough to push him over the tipping point and he came with a roar, his knot expanding to lock them together. Dorian cried out in surprise, squirming as he was pumped full of hot seed and stretched even further.

Carefully not to crush him or torque his knot, Bull switched their positions, letting Dorian rest comfortably on top of him. Too spent to search for the blanket, they rested in comfortable silence, content to wait until they could separate before trying to clean up.

It took time for Bull's knot to deflate and they spent it dozing, too tired to talk. Later, as he shifted and sighed as he felt the first trickles of Bull's cum leaking out. That small sound stirred Bull from his doze and he kissed Dorian's cheek, settling his hand on his hip. Carefully, he pulled Dorian up until his length slipped free. Dorian sent a small burst of healing magic over himself to take care of anything that could have gone amiss. Rolling off Bull, without any attempt at grace, he flopped onto the mattress, giving himself a minute to adjust before standing. His legs were shaking as he wandered off to find a cloth to clean off. With a wince, he leaned down and picked up a pair, tossing one at Bull when he gave a short whistle. Cleaner than before but still shaking from the exercise he padded over to the mirror to inspect the lines more closely. 

“You never did say how you felt about it,” said Bull. 

Dorian could see him in the mirror, lying on the bed, his eye following him as he preened and poked at the marks. They had joked before, about how much time he spent looking at himself in mirrors, but he felt like it had never been more justifiable to take the time to look. 

“It’s by far one of, if not the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me,” he admitted, lost on how to get his feeling across. It was a clearly a physical representation of how Bull saw him or felt about him. Ferocious power, wild and untamed, a dangerous element the he willingly tied himself to in what most would see as one of their most private moments. 

“I don’t always get a chance to say sappy shit, and I’m not great with those kinds of things,” explained Bull. His gaze flickered from Dorian to his own hands. “But I can do physical easy.”

Dorian moved back to the bed and sat down beside him, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I love it Amatus.”

\-----

Resting against the headboard, he noticed a line of paste that had cracked during their play, and couldn’t contain his curiosity. Picking at the line revealed that it came away from his skin painlessly, and he pulled at it until a little section came away. What lay underneath it however, agitated him. 

“Bull. I thought you claimed that this was temporary!” he said his voice rising in pitch, gesturing to the darker line that had bled from the paste onto his skin. 

“It is,” chuckled Bull, clearly amused by his level of concern. “Should only last about a week.”

 

PS Alternate ending.

 

He had received a report from one of his guards as he left his evening meeting. Dorian and The Iron Bull had, once again been seen fumbling and groping one another on the battlements. Last time it had happened, it had been a rather intensely uncomfortable experience trying to explain the potential consequences of their actions. It had been less of a conversation or lecture and more of an embarrassing mess for everyone involved. There had been far too much giggling on their part and stuttering on his own for it to have stuck. They had been warned though, that if it happened again the inquisitor would have to be informed of their dangerous behavior. 

Unwilling to wait for morning and drag out any more potential incidents or miss the opportunity to speak with them both, he approached Bull's room. Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself and pushed the door open, ready to start his lecture. 

He had not been expecting to open the door to the immediate sound of glass shattering as a mirror tumbled and cracked against the floor. Glancing at the broken pieces, he looked up intending to apologize, but stopping dead before a word could pass his lips. 

Bull and Dorian hadn't look away from each other, too caught up in their... session to notice anything other than each other. 

Cullen stood frozen, unsure of where to look or what to do, he quietly excused himself and shut the door. He walked stiffly towards the stairs, heading to the herald's rest to order himself a drink. 

Sitting down at one of the booths, and waving to the bar for a drink he stared down at the table, picking at the grain of the wood in a vague attempt at distraction. 

Krem found him like that, staring at the drink he had been nursing and sat down opposite him.

“You look like you've seen a ghost, Commander. Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I walked in on something that I would much rather forget now.” He said quietly, knocking back what was left of his drink and gesturing to the barkeep for another. 

At Krem's raised eyebrow, he glanced upstairs, unwilling to put words to his embarrassment.

“Ah...I heard a rumor from one of the guards that they had been caught fumbling on the battlements again. Didn't think you would try to lecture them so quickly,” he chuckled, looking down at his own drink with an expression that mirrored his own. 

They sat in haunted silence, unwilling to explain on what they had seen, content on drinking and enjoying the nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> The Title is from the song "I Could Smoke" by Said the Whale.
> 
> marsh-mellow-toast.tumblr.com


End file.
